


Spelled

by ActiveAggression



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Bard Gavin, Blacksmith Michael, Gus is pretty much god, King Ryan, M/M, Michael and Ray being best buds, Priest Geoff, There is nothing historically accurate in this, Wizard Ray, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 16:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActiveAggression/pseuds/ActiveAggression
Summary: Ray, like most wizards, is a secretive guy. But Michael's determined to find out where he goes at night or, more importantly, who he goes to see.





	Spelled

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is gonna sound super lame but I made a sims medieval game based around the AH crew ages ago. And it pretty much inspired me to write this. Yep. It's called Wizard Sims AU in my documents list. Oh yes.

Michael’s fairly sure Ray’s seeing someone.

 

Ray, like most wizards, is a secretive guy.

He lives in an actual tower, like something out of a fairytale book, except he's taken his tower inspiration from the evil parts, or at least the architecturally disastrous parts. It's half hanging off a cliff, decrepit and looming - and extensively attached to the clinic, so whenever it does inevitably fall into the sea it'll drag the kingdom's only healthcare building with it. 

Ray always laughs at that,saying it  _can’t_ happen.  _Couldn’t possibly._ Michael suspects that means he’s got some kind of protective magic going on, but Michael’s not too sure what that entails. He’s a blacksmith, the closest he gets to magic is when Ray turns him into a golem on a whim and pouts when Michael demands to be turned back.

The point is, no one ever enters Ray's magical tower of magic. They fear it falling. They fear how the kingdom will cope without Joel's medicine or Ray's presence to scare the pirates away. The tower's warded pretty heavily to dissuade visitors too. Ray tested that one out on Michael a few years back, inviting the blacksmith around and laughing as Michael slowly forget where he was going and why.

Even if the tower wasn’t warded, the only person who wants to visit Ray is Michael. The rest of the town is scared he’ll sneeze on them and the world will end. It's not a ridiculous fear; Ray’s pretty powerful when he wants to be. Sure, usually he spends his magical potential messing with Michael or stealing parts of people’s souls (Michael isn’t sure what he needs all the soul fragments for but whenever he asks Ray just mutters ‘doom stuff’ and walks away), but when he wants to be - Ray can be one scary mother fucker. 

So, intentional or not, Ray's secretive and private. Even Michael often has no idea what he’s doing with his day.

Up until a couple of weeks ago if someone asked, Michael would’ve answered ‘magic stuff.' But then he noticed Ray going up to the castle in the middle of the night and coming back with a dazed expression and bruises littering the length of his neck.

Ray seeing someone is surprising enough. Ray seeing someone living in the castle is something else entirely.

There’s a plethora of maids of course, but they have a strict no fucking where you work policy - likely because if they were caught it would be a straight ticket to the pit. King Haywood don’t mess around.

It’s possible he’s not necessarily going into the main castle, but branching off into one of the attached wings instead. There’s the knight’s headquarters up there, the massive reception hall - but no one lives in that - and the secretive building that everyone thinks has something to do with spies but that’s only a rumour.

Michael only knows one spy. Barbara. She’s pretty fucking terrifying. She’s small and blonde, but sometimes she gets this look like she knows how to pulls your intestines out of your mouth and won't hesitate to do so. Michael is 99% sure that Ray isn’t fucking her.

He’s also pretty sure Ray isn’t doing one of the knights either, because the only knight Ray knows is Jack and Jack has some weird celibate relationship going on with the Sorolian Priest, Geoff. Michael doesn’t understand having a relationship and not having sex, but Jack seems happy and Geoff gets to keep being a priest.

The elimination leaves Michael floundering over who it could be though. He tried to ask Ray a couple of days back and that conversation had passed as such;

“Who are you seeing up at the castle Ray?”

And then Michael had promptly turned around and left the tower, getting all the way back to the entrance of the smithy before realising Ray had magicked him again. Fucks sake.

 

Michael tried asking Gavin because Gavin seems to know everything, but he’d been simultaneously drunk and trying to play something complicated on his lute. He’d squinted at Michael like he didn’t know who he was and then; “Who’s Ray?”

“... Sorcerer Ray.”

“Who?”

 

Needless to say, he hadn’t really gotten anywhere. But, fuck, he _needs_ to know. For the sake of his sanity. Which, doubtless, is how he ends up back in Ray’s tower after having turned around and gone home five times at the behest of the wards.

“Fuck,” he curses as he climbs the stairs to the second floor, “does that shit affect Joel? How does he even treat people when he keeps walking off? Do they walk off?”

Ray’s brow wrinkles and he sighs, dropping from his meditative levitation down onto the cobblestone. “Counterwards,” he explains airily, waving his hand around like the pretentious dick he is.

“Could you counterward me then?”

Ray eyes him. “It doesn’t work like that Michael,” he says, like Michael’s an idiot, “and even if it did, I wouldn’t. You’re far too nosy.”

“I just want to know who’s doing this,” Michael complains, hooking his fingers in the collar of Ray’s high-necked tunic. Sure enough when the fabric pulls away, Ray’s neck is once again littered with dark bruises. “And,” Michael continues, “why you aren’t spelling them away.”

Ray rolls his eyes, likely at Michael’s use of ‘spelling’ as a verb, though it totally is what Ray does. “It’s none of your business,” he says and turns to fiddle with his crystal ball.

Michael frowns, watching. Ray doesn’t fiddle. Ray doesn’t even fiddle when he’s lying to people. Ray is a master manipulator.

“Oh shit,” Michael says aloud, “it’s really serious isn’t it?”

Ray glances up at him, mouth set in a firm line. “No,” he deadpans, “I’m just fucking someone I don’t care about at all.” The sarcasm practically drips from his words.

“I don’t mean the relationship,” Michael says, waving his sarcasm off, “I mean hiding it.”

Ray is a great liar, but Michael known him for years, so when Ray’s shoulders bunch almost imperceptibly and he grinds out, “no. It’s not,” Michael knows he’s lying.

“It must be someone important,” he continues, totally ignoring Ray’s protest. “Is it a foreign dignitary or something? Like… a noble!?”

Ray mumbles something. Michael blinks and suddenly he’s in front of his front door, out of breath.

“Oh for the love of Sorola,” he swears, turning around to squint at the hill Ray’s tower sits on. He doesn’t even want to think about how many tries it will take him to get back in there.

 

That night, Michael watches out his front window as Ray wanders down the path from his tower, turning right at the intersection and heading back up into the hills the castle sits on. He’s not particularly stealthy, which is weird because Michael knows he can be. And if hiding this relationship is as serious as Ray seems to think it is, Michael would expect him to be very stealthy.

Ray is easily the most powerful wizard in their corner of the world. He doesn’t even have to use a staff to funnel magic through, like most wizards do. Michael knows his friend can transform into nearly anything he wants to. One time Michael entered the tower and Ray was masquerading as a tree. A tree traveling up the castle wouldn’t necessarily be stealthy, but Ray can glamour his face and body into anything. He can turn into animals, half-animals, creatures from legend. He definitely _could_ be stealthy as shit. But he isn’t.

Michael’s busy frowning over this when he hears a crash from downstairs and a strange squawking noise.

“Gavin,” Michael groans loudly, stepping away from his window and peering down the stairs. “Please tell me that was you falling into the forge.”

“I’m okay Michael,” Gavin calls back, likely having missed Michael’s comment.

“Is my smithy fine?” Michael asks, descending the stairs. It’s dark, but the forge is still glowing gently and he can just make out the scattered chest-plates around Gavin’s lithe silhouette. He pauses, “is my fucking business fine? Sorola, Gavin.”

“Don’t take the lord’s name in vain,” Gavin mumbles absently as he fumbles with the platemail. “Fuck, this shit’s heavy.”

“That _shit_ ,” Michael sighs, “is my livelihood. Not everyone can annoy people for a living.”

Gavin sniffs, as if offended. He mumbles something that sounds vaguely like, “annoy _you_ for a living,” but Michael isn’t sure so doesn’t respond to it. He crosses the room to help Gavin stack the chest-plates back up.

When they’re done Gavin turns and smiles widely at him. It’s still dark and Michael can really only make out the slight reflection of the light off Gavin’s teeth, but it’s nice anyway. He feels a little too warm and takes a small step away from the embers in the smithy.

“Hey Michael,” Gavin murmurs.

“Hey yourself,” Michael responds and starts the retreat back to his room again. Gavin follows, as usual, and he curls up on the uncomfortable couch at the end of Michael’s bed. He’s been doing this for almost as long as he’s been in Edgaria. He came in off the ship and immediately adopted Michael’s couch as his own.

He doesn’t always stay at the smithy. He does have his own bed in the tavern, but apparently the bed sucks and there are always people downstairs being too loud when he wants to sleep.

Michael kind of wants to sit at the window and wait for Ray’s remarkably shameless walk of shame, but he finds himself moving back over to his bed anyway. He throws a blanket over to Gavin and settles down, pulling his own furs up to his chin as he listens to Gavin squirm and huff into a comfortable position.

 

When Michael wakes up, Gavin is gone and the blankets are thrown haphazardly across the floor. Michael sighs and picks them up. Foldings a little beyond Gavin.

He works twice as quickly to fill his orders, preparing for another ten treks up the hill. At the very least he’s going to be fucking fit after all this.

He delivers a couple of sets of armor to Jack, who tilts his head in thanks and pays him well. King Haywood doesn’t cheap out on his knights.

Barbara he finds halfway up to the secret silent building beside the reception hall. He breathes a sigh of relief - he’s not even sure the spy headquarters has a door, and if it does he certainly doesn’t know where the fuck it could be - and hands Barabara over a scimitar he’s spent the last two weeks making. She doesn’t say a thing but hands him a sack of coins and continues on down towards the docks.

Michael drops a fair few other bits and pieces off, feeling a little like a pack mule instead of a world class blacksmith.

It’s around midday when Michael finally makes the trek up the hill. Ray’s tower seems to approach him even though it’s Michael moving, and the closer it gets the more of a wreck it looks. From the path Michael can’t see the back of the building, but he knows it’s overhanging the ocean - just barely hanging on.

He approaches, or the building approaches, and he gets up to the door. There’s a glimpse of tan skin, dark eyes, quick words in a language Michael’s very familiar with but doesn’t understand.

 

Michael blinks and he’s face to face with the smithy door. “Fuck,” he curses.

“Ray ward you out again?” a voice asks from his right. He turns to find Gavin smiling at him, a hint of ‘what can you do’ splayed over his face. His tunic looks clean and the blue draws Michael’s eye almost as much as his stupidly golden hair.

Michael eyes him with a frown. “Who are you dressing up for?”

Gavin looks down at himself like he has no idea how he ended up so clean. “No one,” he mutters.

“No plans for later today?” he asks, speculating. It could be the merchant, who is ever so pretty and savagely charismatic. The smithy and the market aren’t so far apart and he thinks he can see the man himself talking enthusiastically to what looks like Barbara’s spy friend.

“Nothing on except for you Michael,” Gavin beams.

Michael glances back up at the tower. “Yeah okay,” he mutters, “whatever. Come in.”

Gavin’s sunny smile dims a little, but he bounds through the door anyway. Even his face looks clean, the fuck?

Michael’s fairly certain the tavern doesn’t have a bathtub, and if it did it wouldn’t be on offer to Gavin who pretty much forces his lute playing and awful poetry on the unsuspecting patrons.

As far as bathtubs go, Michael’s pretty sure there are only two in the entire kingdom - one in the castle for specific use of only King Ryan and the other one is located in Ray’s tower. He lets Michael use it sometimes, if he can manage to get through the wards and Ray isn’t there. The average citizen - you know, the ones that aren’t _the king -_ have to make do with bathing in the river. The river is fine, but it’s Winter and going in it is just asking for hypothermia.

Joel would probably laugh himself silly if someone came into the clinic with self-inflicted hypothermia. He likely would refuse to treat them too. He’s often been heard saying he doesn’t waste resources on stupidity.

“Whose bathtub did you use?” Michael asks out of nowhere and Gavin startles so hard he almost falls off the crappy chair gathered close to Michael’s equally crappy dining table.

“What?”

“You’re all clean,” Michael huffs, “and you don’t have hypothermia… so?”

Gavin shrugs. “There may be a possible case of frostbite. Why do you think I came here?”

Michael supposes that makes sense. The smithy is probably the warmest place in the entire kingdom, with the forge generating heat like a motherfucker.

“So you did go to the river then?”

“Nah,” Gavin admits, “I went to the church.”

“The church doesn’t have a bathtub.”

“Has a wash basin,” Gavin shrugs, “I was pretty thorough.”

Michael isn’t sure what he’s meant to say to that. He’s pretty sure the words weren’t meant to elicit mental images of Gavin’s tan skin shiny and slippery with water, hands brushing water down over thighs and… and… _fuck._

“Why’d Geoff let you use it?”

Gavin grins. “It’s Geoff. He loves me.”

That is undeniably true. The moment Gavin arrived in the kingdom, Geoff had taken a liking to him. Geoff, being a priest, is already a pretty terrifying guy to the general populace. Any attempts to pick on the weird foreign lute player were immediately discarded. A Servant of Sorola is not someone to pick a fight with.

Michael sits down on one of the opposite chairs, further from the heat of the forge than Gavin. “So what’s the occasion then?”

"No occasion,” Gavin says casually… far too casually. “But uh - I wanted to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“You asked me about Ray when I was drunk, I think.”

“I did.”

“Right so, I know where he goes.”

Michael sighs. “So do I. The castle.”

“Yeah sure, but I know who he goes there to see.” That is infinitely more exciting and interesting, as is the weird way Gavin’s practically vibrating in his seat like it’s the juiciest gossip he’s ever had. “And it’s mental,” he continues, flapping his hands around, elbows pressed into the uneven surface on the table, “like I always assumed Ray’s too good for relationships right? I mean, he’s a sorcerer… well, _the_ sorcerer. You know? He’s powerful. And I thought no one in the kingdom could really catch the interest of someone so powerful.”

Michael scowls, because Ray’s powerful sure, but he’s also totally a dickhead and Gavin’s talking about him like he’s the embodiment of Sorola.

“Get to the point,” he growls. Gavin flails in response.

“ _He found someone,”_ Gavin whispers, “he found someone just as powerful.”

Michael’s brow furrows. Fuck, someone just as powerful? He didn’t think they existed, and if they did he wouldn’t imagine they’d live in Edgaria. It’s a great kingdom, but most wizards can’t handle the constrictions of living under King Haywood.

“A wizard?” he asks, to clarify.

Gavin’s breath leaves him in a huge whoosh and he leaps to his feet, leaning into Michael’s space across the table. “No.”

“Then how are they just as powerful as _Ray?_ ”

Gavin’s hand flings out, almost hitting Michael as he gestures… fucking something, Michael isn’t sure what. “Michael,” he whispers, getting all up in Michael’s space, “it’s King Haywood. He’s fucking the King.”

Michael pauses, taking in this altogether surprising information. Then he drags Gavin over the table by the collar of his tunic and whispers, “shut the fuck up,” harshly into his ear, “if someone hears you saying shit like that-”

Gavin smiles ruefully. “The pit, yeah I know.” He’s lying belly down on the table, looking far too comfortable for it. His hairs in disarray, flung over his forehead and his breaths are coming hard and fast.

Michael feels incredibly turned on all of a sudden, a hot flush working its way through his stomach. He drops Gavin’s shirt and stands up. Gavin just lies back and watches him with big dark eyes. Michael suddenly knows exactly who Gavin washed for and he wants - no, _needs_ to touch. But he can’t.

“You,” he growls, “stay here. Go upstairs if you want. I’m going to go talk to Ray and when I get back, I’m going to fuck you into the floor.”

Gavin nods wordlessly, all the confirmation Michael needs to know he was right.

He stays boneless on the table as Michael leaves.

 

Michael thinks real hard the entire way up the hill about the clinic and how great it would be to visit it. He’s halfway up the hill when this becomes an actual real thought because he probably does need to get lube to make good on his promise to Gavin. He gets to the top of the hill, looking between the two doors.

The clinic sits there, and Michael suddenly has this horrible trepidation about asking Joel for fucking lubricant. Looking at Ray’s door makes him want to walk all the way back home though - fucking wards - so he walks quickly over to the clinic doorway.

A couple of patients sit around the waiting space, taking up the limited seating. An assistant is asking questions of one of them and Joel is nowhere to be seen. The assistant looks up at him, takes in his demeanor, his tattoos, everything and nods quickly to the door into the operating room.

He smiles in thanks and goes through to find Joel liberally plopping leeches down on his patient. The man seems to be unconscious.

“Do those even work?” Michael asks.

Joel turns to look at him. “I don’t think so,” he answers, shrugging. “What are you here for Michael?”

“I need to talk to Ray,” he says. Joel nods thoughtfully, putting down his jar of leeches. He pokes his patient hard in the side, to no effect.

“Is it about the King?” he asks quietly. Michael stares at him.

“You knew?”

“I worked it out. He goes to the castle. Every time. He’s definitely not sleeping with Barbara, nor the other spy. I think _he’s_ got something going on with the merchant anyway. Sir Jack doesn’t even sleep with Geoff, he certainly wouldn’t with anyone else. The foreign dignitaries are too here and gone for Ray’s nightly trips to have continued this long. The maids are so far out of the equation, it’s ridiculous for me to even be bringing them up.” Joel pauses. “I’m not sure you should talk to him about it.”

“I’m his best friend,” Michael argues.

“He’s doing the king, Michael. If anyone knew, they’d target Ray instantly. King Haywood has a lot of enemies.”

“Ray can protect himself.”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “I have no doubt. He’s probably more protected than King Haywood is. The issue is you.”

“What?”

“Everyone knows you and Ray are best friends for ever and ever and ever. The proper way to get to someone as powerful as Ray is through you.”

Michael hadn’t even thought of that.

Joel watches his face fall and his forehead creases. “If you’re going up to talk to Ray, why did you come here. He hasn’t modified his wards to send people here, has he? I can’t deal with that influx.”

“Uh no,” Michael cuts in, “he hasn’t changed his wards. I came here because - see - uh - Gavin was think-”

 Joel’s face breaks into a huge grin. “Gotcha,” he says, going over to a set of shelves and fishing around in them until he emerges with a jar in hand. He hands it to Michael and laughs at the look on his face. “He spent so long in Geoff’s room this morning, I thought he must’ve drowned in that basin.”

Michael can feel a flush working it’s way over his cheeks, so he just ducks his head in thanks and embarrassment, heading for the door.

“Michael,” Joel says as he goes, “focus on the side window. It helps.”

Michael isn’t sure what that’s meant to mean, but he’s too embarrassed to ask. He steps into the waiting room, remembering about the jar of lube in his hand a moment too late and quickly tries to tuck it into his robes. The assistant gives him an amused look, but she doesn’t say anything and no one else seems to have noticed.

The air outside the clinic feels great on his overheated skin and he reaches up to brush his hand over his sweat slick forehead. It doesn’t feel so important to talk to Ray about his sex life now. Joel raised some great points. Maybe Michael should leave it alone.

He takes a step towards the path down to the blacksmith when it occurs to him that Gavin’s all clean and Michael really really isn’t. He eyes the tower. He’s hit instantly with the urge to stop looking at it and go home, but he fights that and his eyes fix on one of the windows. The urge ebbs and Michael thinks this must be what Joel was talking about.

Michael walks unsteadily towards the tower. The urge to turn back is still there, just muffled. He makes it to the door, through the aged wood and into the room on the other side. Immediately the wards lose their effect on him and he steps further into the space, door closing behind him. Ray isn’t down here. If Michael has any luck, Ray will be out and won't object to Michael using his spellbound bathtub.

He climbs the steps, hovering outside the second floor door. He listens, but can’t hear any noise. It doesn’t occur to him that soundproofing is totally a spell Ray would know until he pushes the door open and is met with the sight of Ray naked and chained to his bed, their king braced above him.

The door hits the wall with a thud and both turn to face him. Ray’s eyes are wide and King Haywood is expressionless - never a good thing. The chains instantly disappear and Ray is up off the bed, scattered clothing picking itself up and twining around his body until he’s fully dressed.

“What the holy fuck are you doing here Michael?” Ray hisses, approaching like a lightning storm. He seems to grow and everything else seems to shrink. Michael thinks it might be his imagination, but he sees the blue light flickering in Ray’s palms and knows it’s not. It’s Ray’s magic. “You couldn’t just leave it alone could you? You just _had_ to know! If I need to put up wards just for you Michael, I will!”

“Ray,” King Haywood sighs, still totally naked on Ray’s plush bedding, “it’s getting a little small in here.”

Ray stops, closes his eyes and takes a huge breath in, letting it out slowly. The room gradually returns to normal size as he calms himself.

“Are you fucking happy now Michael?” he mutters angrily, eyes flashing electric blue.

“I just-” Michael chokes. He thinks he might cry, fuck. “I wanted to ask if I could use your bath.”

Ray pauses. “What?”

“Gavin came over and - fuck Ray, he’s all clean - he’s so so clean and i’m-” Michael cuts off, gestures to himself. Every inch of him is streaked with coal dust and dirt and rock. His tattoos are almost nothing. Fuck he really might cry. “I’m not good enough,” Michael finishes quietly.

Ray looks a little shocked. He turns to look at King Haywood and sighs. “I’ll portal you back,” he says apologetically, “I just-”

“I understand Ray,” King Haywood says, which is fucking weird. Usually he’s saying stuff more along the lines of, ‘send him to the pit’ or ‘does there really need to be two of them?’

Ray mutters something under his breath, flicks his fingers out and a portal appears beside his bed. “Goes straight into your room,” he says. The King nods, not bothering to get dressed or gather his clothes. He simply leaves and Michael stares after him.

“If you can portal like that, why did you bother walking all those times?”

Ray raises an eyebrow. “Ryan likes the kingdom knowing I belong to someone. It’s a sex thing.”

Michael nods weakly and Ray walks closer.

“You okay?”

“Yeah - I just - fuck you’re scary.”

Ray smiles mildly. “When I want to be. What’s this about Gavin?”

“I’m gonna fuck him into the floor,” Michael deadpans.

“Nice,” Ray nods, holding out his fist. Michael bumps his own against it automatically.

“He washed up, in the church basin. He’s real clean. And, I’m not… I thought I could get away with using your tub. Guess not.”

Ray rolls his eyes and mutters something low in that magical language of his. His eyes glow and his palms spark.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” he says after, grinning a little lopsided smile.

Michael knows immediately what’s happened. Ray’s spelled him clean. Michael didn’t even know he could do that, but his skin feels clean and when he looks at himself everything from his fingernails to his clothing is dust free.

Michael offers him a quick grin back, about to leave when Ray’s actual fingers touch his arm. Ray doesn’t really touch people, not really. Apparently he touches King Haywood a whole lot, but that seems different. Michael turns to face his friend.

“You got lube?” Ray asks, no nonsense, no embarrassment.

“You have a spell to conjure lube?” Michael asks skeptically. Talk about wasted magical potential.

“Not exactly,” Ray mutters, “I thought about making one but it seemed easier to just create a spell that would do it all.”

“It all?”

“You know, the whole shebang. Lubes him up, gets him ready. I usually use it on myself, and I’ve never tried it at a distance - he’s at yours right? - but should be simple enough.”

Michael can’t help but stare at him. “You have a foreplay spell,” he deadpans.

“Do you want me to or not?”

“Do I want you to foreplay spell Gavin? No! That’s weird as shit.”

“Just offering,” Ray defends, “though I guess it would be weird for him to be sitting there and suddenly bam, he’s ready to take some dick. Do you want me to wait until you’re there?”

Michael hesitates, partially cause it sounds super cool to just walk into the smithy, bend Gavin over the table and slide right in. Then he realises again how fucking weird it would be for Ray to make that happen. “No, I don’t want you to do it at all. I’ll do it… manually… with like, fingers. Not your magical fingers.”

Ray smirks, “they are pretty magical. But if you need lube, I mean Joel’s right next doo-” He cuts off, voice stuttering, eyes flashing blue and then gold and back to being his usual dark brown. “I see,” he says quietly, “You already did. My bad.”

Michael feels himself flush again, hot in his cheeks. “Thanks Ray,” he manages, stepping towards the door. “Also, if Haywood hurts you, I’ll-”

“I’ll kill him,” Ray interrupts, like he knows how ineffective Michael’s threats at the King are. “He never would,” Ray shrugs, “but if he did… I can take care of myself Michael.”

“I know, just-”

“Get the hell out of here,” Ray interrupts, rolling his eyes.

 

Michael blinks and he’s standing in front of the smithy door. “Sorola,” he says, instinctively turning to squint up at Ray’s tower. The afternoon sun makes it a munted silhouette of a building.

When Michael turns back around he has to blink spots of pink and blue and black out of his vision, and when he does Gavin’s standing there looking golden and clean and nervous?

He’s wringing his fingers together, biting harshly at his bottom lip, wide-eyed. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

Michael rolls his eyes, shoves his newly acquired lube pot into Gavin’s fingers and uses the force to push the smaller man back inside the shadows of the smithy.

Gavin makes a noise like a dying seagull and tilts his head to one side. “You’re clean?”

Michael shrugs, pulling his jacket off. Then his shirt.

Another aborted bird noise comes. “But you aren’t wet…”

“Ray spelled me clean,” Michael mutters, trying to shove Gavin’s shirt up over his head in an attempt to stop him from talking.

Gavin helps wrangle his shirt to his chest, disappointingly having another one on underneath. “I’m not sure spelled is a word... not in that context,” he says, breathless after the labour intensive shirt moving, “how did that go anyway?”

“Sorola Gavin, would you shut the fuck up and take your clothes off!?”

“Sure,” Gavin says brightly, “... but you aren’t like, dead. Which I sort of expected honestly, so…”

“Urgh,” Michael responds, “I should’ve asked Ray to spell you silent.”

“I still don’t think that’s a wor-”

"Oh shut it," Michael says and pulls him into a kiss. 

 

* * *

 

"So," Ray starts, stirring something blue and glowing in a pot. "How'd it go?" 

Michael shrugs, watching the iron spoon melt into the liquid. "Fucked him into the floor," he says. 

"Nice," Ray responds, dropping the spoon handle into the goop in order to offer a fist to Michael. 

Michael bumps his own against it moments before the liquid explodes out of the cauldron, drenching everything. Except, miraculously, Michael. 

"What," he says, confused. 

Ray shrugs a slimy shoulder at him, shaking the stuff off his fingers. "Shield," he mutters, like it's nothing. 

Michael, completely spotless and standing beside his goopy friend, is pretty sure it isn't nothing. 

"Ugh," Ray grumps, "I'm gonna be blue for a week. You think Ryan will be into that?" 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed... whatever this is. If so, please kudos, comment, tell me what you think.


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